Life Is What Happens
by magfreak
Summary: A post-3x05 rewrite of Downton Abbey Series 3 and Series 4 in which Sybil lives. Previously posted on my tumblr blog as a series of drabbles re-imagining scenes in S4 with Sybil present.
1. Chapter 1

_This isn't a new story exactly. At least, it's not new if you follow me on tumblr. If you do, you know that while Downton Abbey series 4 was airing in the UK, I wrote a series of drabbles with accompanying manips rewriting certain scenes of the show exploring how they would have played out if Sybil had lived. I've also mentioned on my tumblr blog that I plan to post the drabbles here with a bit more background to tie everything together. So that is what this is. (If you are interested in looking at the manips that went with this series, just go to my tumblr, magfreak dot tumblr dot com, and click on the link at the top called "My Series 4.")_

_Before I start, a couple of things . . ._

_1) I wrote a lot of the drabbles on the fly, so there are a few points/details that I am going to be tweaking now that I'm posting the full story here. One is how Sybil gives birth. In one of the last drabbles, Sybil mentions losing consciousness *after* giving birth. I've changed how it all happened (as you'll see below), so when I post that drabble, the line will be slightly different._

_2) This is a re-imagining of series 4 that changes nothing about what we've seen on the show except for Sybil's death. Obviously, her very presence will have changed how certain things played out, but everything else that happened in series 3 still happened, up to and including Edith being left at altar and Matthew's death. That was done sort of by necessity. The project began because I wanted to insert Sybil into scenes from the show that I thought the character would have been in and since I started with the first episode of series 4, everything that had happened on the show up to that point had to be true. As much as it pained me to consider writing a universe without Matthew and with Edith so unhappy, both characters I love, I was very interested in exploring how events would have affected Sybil and how they would have affected Tom differently with Sybil there._

_Anyway, the first few chapters will be a sort of extended prologue that covers events from Sybbie's birth to Matthew's death in a series of missing scenes. Like the drabbles themselves, most chapters will be short(ish) in length, just a scene or two to establish what happens._

_OK, enough with this note, on with the show . . ._

* * *

It took a few minutes for Sybil to recognize the Downton hospital ceiling. Her vision was fuzzy, as eyes are after a long sleep. There was also the matter of a splitting headache that seemed to grow worse every second she was conscious. She opened her mouth to speak but her tongue felt too heavy and sticky to move let alone form words.

She closed her eyes again and some of it began to come back.

* * *

_The sharp pains in her back start in the wee hours._

_Dr. Clarkson checks her over._

_She tells Mary that they've chosen to do a Catholic baptism._

_There's a doctor she doesn't recognize. He walks about the room but never speaks to her directly. He doesn't so much as introduce himself._

_Edith comes to see her. Her parents. Tom._

* * *

"Tom?" Her own voice sounded foreign to her.

* * *

_He holds her hand, touches her face._

_She sees the trace of fear in his eyes. She wants to tell him it's going to be all right, but something in the back of her mind worries her, like a forgotten task. _

_He wants to go to Liverpool._

_She says something about the stars and throws her head back into the memory, holding him tightly on a chilly night atop the roof of their building blanketed by love and Dublin's night sky._

* * *

Sybil cleared her throat. "Tom?"

* * *

_She doesn't remember anything else._

* * *

Sybil pulled at her heavy limbs in an effort to sit up and cried out at the sudden and searing pain in her abdomen.

"Tom?" She called again, her racing heart rate now truly waking her from her previous stupor.

"She's awake! Hurry, she's awake!"

It was the voice of Isobel, but Tom's was the face she saw first.

"Praise God!" Tom exclaimed, his voice breaking. "It's all right, my darling. You're going to be all right."

Tom leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead, cognizant of her still fragile state, and brushed her hair from her face and neck with his fingers.

"Tom, the baby!" Sybil squeaked out, blinking away the tears and seeing tears in his eyes and in the eyes of Isobel standing behind him.

"Oh, love, she's beautiful," Tom said, grinning like Sybil had never seen him do. "She's perfect."

Sybil let out a sob. "It's a girl?"

"Yes, love, a beautiful girl and she's been crying for her mam since she was born."

"How long ago was it?" Sybil asked, a trace of desperation in her voice as she wondered how much she had missed.

"Just a day a half," Tom said, squeezing her hands. "She's been fine. You've not missed anything."

Sybil, overcome with relief and joy, pulled on Tom's hand until he was close enough for her to put her arms around him and sobbed into him for several minutes.

"Would you like to meet your daughter?" He said into her neck.

Sybil laughed and pulled away. "Oh, yes."

"I'll go get her."

"She's still here in the hospital?" Sybil asked.

"Of course," he said. "We weren't going to leave here without you. Just wait a moment."

As Tom walked to fetch the baby from her bassinet at the other end of the ward, Isobel approached carefully and offered Sybil a hand so she could sit up.

"What happened?" Sybil asked practically whispering.

Isobel looked into Sybil's eyes and immediately saw the question. It was the nurse in Sybil who was asking. "It was eclampsia, my dear," Isobel said solemnly. "Are you familiar with it?"

Sybil nodded. She looked down at her still swollen torso and gently pressed her hands against her lower abdomen. She winced despite the lightness of her touch. "Is there an infection?"

"Yes, but thankfully a mild one," Isobel answered. "I assisted Dr. Clarkson with the procedure myself. He took exceedingly good care of you. You know that I wouldn't say this lightly, but in this case, I believe it to be true. He saved—"

"My life," Sybil said, finishing the thought for her. "You did, too," she added with a light smile. "I don't remember you at the house."

"I don't want you to worry over this," Isobel said sitting at the edge of the bed and taking Sybil's hand, "but there was some . . . disagreement as to what was happening to you. Matthew called me in the middle of it at Tom's request."

"I'm so glad he did," Sybil said. Her smile warmed Isobel's heart.

It had been a fight unlike any Isobel had witnessed, but sense had won out. Thanks, at least in part, to a well placed punch.

_I'll let him tell her that part_, Isobel thought with a smile.

Hearing Tom approach, Isobel regarded Sybil for a long moment and looked like she was going to say something else, but instead stood to give Tom room.

Sybil felt a small weight settle gently on her heart as she watched Tom walk toward her with the tiny bundle in his arms. He sat down on the edge of the bed and very gingerly shifted the small child into Sybil's arms. The baby had been asleep when Tom picked her up out of her bassinet, but as she settled into her mother's arms, seemingly recognizing the momentousness of this moment, she opened her eyes and saw her mother looking back at her. Her tiny mouth opened into something like a smile.

"Hello, my lovely girl," Sybil said as more tears fell on her cheeks. Sybil tugged at the swaddle to let the baby's arms free. "Oh, Tom, how did we manage it? She's everything I thought she'd be."

"She's her mother's daughter. There's no denying that."

Sybil looked up at Tom and smiled. "I love her. And you. So much."

Tom laughed and leaned in for a kiss. "Oh, darling, so much love fills my heart now, it might well burst." He sat back and then scratched his head sheepishly. "Though I wonder if you'll be singing a different tune when I tell you what it took to get you to the hospital."

Sybil furrowed her brow. "What it _took_?"

"Your father was being wholly unreasonable and insisted that Sir Philip Tapsell be listened to over the objections of both Isobel and Dr. Clarkson. Downton is his house, but I wasn't going to let him have the last word when it comes to my family. And honestly, love, I never would have done it if I didn't think the situation absolutely dire. Though I'm afraid I confirmed his worst assumptions of me in the process."

"What are you talking about?"

Tom took a deep breath. "I . . . well, I . . ."

Sybil rolled her eyes with a laugh. "Tom, just say it!"

"I knocked his lights out."


	2. Chapter 2

_So, yes, Tom punches Robert. It had to be done didn't it :)_

_Some additional background on that: When reconstructing the scene in my head, adding the very vocal Isobel into the heart of the quarrel, it occurred to me that it would take drastic action to get everyone to stop fretting and arguing and focused on the fact that they needed to get Sybil to the hospital ASAP. My thought was that as the power struggle between Tom and Robert comes to the fore, Tom feels like Sybil and his baby are both dying and Robert is standing in the way of saving their lives, so he acts out of anger and desperation. The punch silences everyone. Then, without apology, Tom asks Matthew to help him get Sybil into the car, which Matthew does without a word. Cora and Tom stay at the hospital through the night and through Sybil's delivery, at the end of which Cora assures Tom that she will mend things with Robert. This chapter adds a few more details on that and brings us to the question of Sybbie's baptism. Enjoy!_

* * *

Miss Sybil Keelin Branson and her mother remained in the hospital for a full month and it almost took that long for the latter to agree to share a name with her daughter.

Having failed to come to an agreement prior to her birth, Tom and Sybil had made the informal arrangement that Tom would name the child if Sybil gave birth to a girl and she would if the child was a boy. Given how it all turned out, Tom was in awe of Sybil's strength in bringing the baby into the world and simply wouldn't take no for an answer. To both his and Sybil's surprise, he found supporters in just about everyone in the family.

The length of the hospital stay was due to Sybil's infection, which didn't worsen but weakened her considerably and caused her legs to swell even more than they'd been in the days leading up to her delivery. "Sybbie," nicknamed by her Uncle Matthew, only stayed in the hospital to be with her mother, who within a week of waking was able to relieve the wet nurse her parents had hired of her duties.

Tom, committed to the promise that neither he nor the baby would leave the hospital without her, insisted on staying as long as Sybil did, but by the end of Sybbie's second week, Sybil saw how stir-crazy he was getting and, to let him off the hook, asked Dr. Clarkson to tell Tom that the bed he was using was needed elsewhere in the hospital. When Tom suggested the floor would suffice, Sybil, in turn, suggested his eagerness to stay close was actually an effort to avoid his father-in-law. Cora had brokered a fragile peace between the two men. In a private moment that was among the most heated in their long marriage, Cora told Robert that if Sybil had died at Sir Philip Tapsell's hands, she would never have forgiven Robert and would have expected him never to forgive himself. So Tom returned to the house (if only to sleep) and Robert made no more mention of the incident.

He didn't at least, until Tom's return also brought with it the revelation that Sybbie would be baptized a Catholic. So it was that almost as soon as Robert had forgiven Tom for one offense, another—a graver one—came to take its place.

The fight began on the first morning Tom was back at the house, when Edith, over breakfast with her father and brothers-in-law, asked the seemingly innocuous question of whether he and Sybil had discussed the date and arrangements for the baby's christening. Given Sybil's still fragile health, it was likely the event would have to be put off several weeks if Sybil was going to attend. Wanting to make herself useful, Edith volunteered to call on Mr. Travis that very day.

"Why Mr. Travis?" Tom asked, curious and without thinking.

"To fix the date," Edith answered.

"But Sybbie will be Catholic," Tom said.

"What?!"

All eyes turned to Robert at the head of the table.

Tom closed his eyes to stop himself from rolling them in exasperation. After taking a deep breath, he said, "My daughter is Irish, and she'll be Catholic like her father."

"Are her mother's wishes of no concern to you?" Robert asked, incensed.

"They are my _primary _concern," Tom answered forcefully. "These are her wishes."

"Only because you've forced them upon her!"

"Papa!" Edith called out.

Robert stood and threw his napkin on his plate. "You've seen what he's capable of? Are you honestly not afraid for your sister's happiness and well being?"

Edith looked at her father with a mix of anger and sadness in her eyes that surprised Robert to see. "She chose a partner who is willing to forgo politeness and stand up to your bullying for the sake of love when it's the right thing to do. Would that I had been so lucky." Overcome with emotion over the sting of a memory still too raw, Edith ran out of the room.

Robert turned to face Tom again, who along with Matthew had stood as Edith left. "This isn't over."

"I've told you time and again Sybil has her own mind," Tom said wearily. "I am no more able to control it or her than you ever were. The difference between us is that I don't want to."

"More than that separates you and me."

With that Robert left the two young men alone. They sat back down to finish their breakfast, though Tom suddenly felt free of appetite. He looked over at Matthew.

"I'm not sorry that I hit him," Tom said after a moment. "At least in so far as doing so led to getting control of the situation and getting her to the hospital. But I'm sorry that I'll have made things more difficult for Sybil with her family."

Matthew smiled kindly. "There's no need to be sorry, Tom. Robert will come around."

Tom raised a skeptical eyebrow, causing Matthew to chuckle. "I'll admit _I_ will always be his favorite son-in-law."

Tom couldn't help but laugh at this.

"But in all seriousness, a punch is the least I would have done if it were Mary. I can't say that there will ever be full agreement between the two of you, but eventually he'll see that all you're doing is taking care of your family as you and Sybil have deemed fit."

"You'll be a very different earl than he is . . . not that I know a thing about it," Tom said with a smile.

"Let's hope so," Matthew said. "I'm afraid keeping this house depends on it."

"Are things with the estate really that bad?" Tom asked.

Mathew sighed. "The way it's been run until now . . . there's no future in it. I just have to get Robert and Jarvis to see that."

Tom smiled and looked down at his plate.

"I'm going to look at one of the vacant plots this morning," Matthew said standing. "You could join me if you like."

Tom shrugged, standing as well. "Why not. I think Sybil is getting tired of me hovering over her."

"And I have a feeling Robert will go talk to her about the christening. It's probably best she set him right about that without you there."

Tom smiled. "He thinks _I'm _stubborn."

**XXX**

Sybil had seen this fight coming. She hadn't, however, expected it to come to her.

Matthew had been right about Robert going straight to see her in the hospital after breakfast. What neither he nor Sybil could have guessed was that he'd stop at the church to fetch the Rev. Travis as reinforcement.

"Papa, I know it's hard for you—"

"Sybil, there hasn't been a Catholic Crawley since the Reformation!"

"My daughter isn't a Crawley, papa, she's a Branson!"

Red-faced, Robert pressed on. "The only chance that child will have of achieving anything in life is because—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" The anger rising in Sybil was such she could feel the blood rush into her own reddened face. She felt her pulse at her temples and at the still tender incision on her torso and pushed her hands against the bed as if trying to stand, but no movement she was capable of at the moment could release everything that was building in her right now. She looked over at the bassinet next to her bed, and the sight of her child, sleeping peacefully, served to calm her enough to speak again. "Sybbie will achieve anything she sets her mind to because she will have parents who will support her _unfailingly_. Who I am and who Tom is will have no bearing on that save for how loved she will be."

Duly chastened, Robert simply began to pace the floor at the foot of Sybil's bed to dissolve his pique.

Seeing that the argument was finished, Sybil turned to Mr. Travis, who stood in the corner, wondering how he'd found himself if the middle of all of this.

"Mr. Travis, I do hope my father hasn't inconvenienced you terribly by bringing you here this morning."

The aging vicar stepped forward with his usual stern smile. "Not to worry, Lady Sybil. Seeing to the spiritual needs of the children of my church is never an inconvenience. His lordship simply wanted me to offer some guidance and I am happy to offer it. Anglican worship is pleasing to God. Your father isn't wrong to want to remind you of it."

"Please, don't see it as a personal slight, Mr. Travis, but I haven't the energy for theological discussion at the moment. My husband and I have made our decision."

Mr. Travis leaned forward slightly as if he was about to say something else, but thought better of it and turned to leave.

Sybil added, "I know I've never been the most pious of the Crawley daughters, but that's not to say that I was never listening."

Mr. Travis turned to face her again and gave her a genuine smile. Then, he said his goodbyes and left father, daughter and granddaughter to settle things themselves.

In her bassinet, Sybbie began to stir and Robert walked over to her. He put his hand on her head and gently rubbed the patch of brown hair atop it.

"Do you suppose she'll give me as much trouble as I've given you?"

The corners of Robert's lips curved up into a reluctant smile. "It would be only fair."

Sybil smiled. "Pick her up?"

"What?"

"I can't stand and get her myself, so you have to do it for me."

Robert looked around. "Where's your nurse?"

Sybil laughed. "Papa, don't be silly. Pick up your granddaughter!"

Robert nervously slid his hands underneath Sybbie's back and carefully lifted her.

"Pull her into your chest, so she can rest her head," Sybil instructed.

Robert did so and smiled even more widely as he felt Sybbie curl up against his chest. He sat down on the edge of Sybil's bed and shifted to pass the baby over.

"No," Sybil said. "Hold her for a while. She's yours too."

Robert shifted his arms again so he was cradling her. "Miss Sybil Branson," he said looking down at her. "The world better be ready for you."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks, as ever, for all the kind reviews! The last chapter rewrote one storyline for 3x06 (how the family finds out and accepts Sybbie being christened a Catholic), and took place July 1920, which was the month Sybbie was born. This chapter and the next few get into some of the other storylines in both 3x06 and 3x07, but I've re-arranged the order of how several things unfold in part because Sybil's presence will have changed the course of events and because I need to set up how and why Tom and Sybil stay living in the house as long as they do. Realistically, they'd probably have gone as soon as she was well again, but, again, because I accepted the reality of where things stood in 4x01 and them still living in the house two years after Sybil has given birth, I want to set up how/why they stay there so long._

_The two main things that change are (1) the luncheon that Isobel hosts that Robert storms into because of Ethel will happen after the baptism, not before as in canon, and (2) Matthew will offer Tom the agent's job *before* Kieran arrives for the baptism. Matthew offers the job not because Violet suggests it as in canon but for reasons that will become clear. Everything else more or less happens on the same timeline as the show. _

_This chapter takes place between 3x06 and 3x07, so about August 1920, now a full month since Sybbie's birth and with Sybil back at the house. _

* * *

"Are you really not going to hire a nanny?" Mary asked Sybil as the latter took her first tentative steps on her bedroom carpet with support from both of her sisters.

"Why in the world would I hire a nanny?" Sybil asked.

Edith looked at her sister like she'd sprouted two heads. "For starters, you can barely walk from one end of the room to the other."

"That's what sisters are for," Sybil said with a teasing smile.

Sybil had only arrived home yesterday, but she was already eager to follow Dr. Clarkson's orders to walk regularly as much as possible to improve her circulation and continue to reduce the swelling in her lower legs and feet. The infection had passed and her incision had begun to scar normally. All that was left was for her body to slowly return to normal strength, which she could easily do at home. Sybil was ever so grateful for the care she had received at the hospital but was, nevertheless, all too happy to be home with Tom, Sybbie and the rest of her family.

Of course, she hadn't been home one hour when her mother asked when she'd begin looking into hiring a nanny, Cora assuming that Sybil would want to do the interviews herself rather than leave it to Mrs. Hughes. Sybil surprised her mother by saying she had not needed the wet nurse and likewise a nanny would be superfluous. Cora argued that given her health, the extra help would be sorely needed, but Sybil was adamant. Tom pointed out that while they got back on their feet and he found a job, he'd be more than happy to pull his weight with the baby. For Cora, that was not an appropriate solution, but she let the matter lie for the time being, knowing that even such stubborn and proud creatures as her youngest daughter and her husband would reach a breaking point when it came for caring for a newborn.

After several laps around the room with the help of Edith and Mary, Sybil was able to move on her own, holding onto the wall as her sisters watched, Edith from the armchair in the room and Mary from the bed.

"Does it hurt?" Edith asked, watching Sybil wince as she took each step.

"Does what hurt?" Sybil asked back.

"Your incision, your legs, any of it?" Edith replied.

Sybil sighed as she continued taking tentative steps. "Not really. Not anymore. It's stiffness more than pain. It feels good just to be out of bed, to be honest. "

"I'm so glad you're feeling better, darling," Mary said, "Does this mean you'll be coming down to dinner tonight? I can tell Anna to come help."

"I don't think so," Sybil said, heading back over to the bed, absolutely spent. "I would think she's got enough to do. With Bates' pending release, I'd hate to take any more of her time. Besides, my feet don't fit into my shoes anymore. After papa and granny fussed about Tom wearing a tuxedo to dinner instead of tails, how do you think I'll be received if I dine in my bedroom slippers?"

"Won't they return to their normal size, eventually?" Edith asked. "Once the swelling has gone down?"

Sybil swung her legs back on the bed and laid back against the headboard, grateful for the rest. "My nurse at the hospital said it's not uncommon for a women's hands or feet to change size permanently after pregnancy."

"Gracious," Edith said.

"There isn't much to endorse the condition, that's for sure," Mary said, coming around to the other side of the bed to help Sybil back under the covers.

"Well, I suppose there's hope it'll be easier the second time around," Sybil said.

"Second time?" Mary said, surprised. "Do you mean you plan to go through this again? Aren't you afraid it'll be worse?"

"Are _you _afraid?" Edith cut in looking at Mary. "Is that what's kept you waiting?"

Sybil felt Mary stiffen next to her immediately. Sybil tried to catch her eyes, but Mary was looking at the ground, obviously not eager to continue this strain of conversation.

"What happened to me is extremely rare," Sybil said quietly. "And anyway, once I was given the proper care, it all turned out fine. Neither of you have anything to worry about."

"Edith certainly doesn't," Mary couldn't stop herself from saying.

"Mary!" Sybil said.

"It's all right, Sybil," Edith said, standing. "I'll go see if Tom needs any help outside with the pram."

Sybil watched Edith walk to the door, and with one sad look back, she was gone. Sybil turned to Mary, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed by Sybil's feet. "That was uncalled for. You know how hard it's been for her since Sir Anthony—"

"We're not waiting."

"What?"

Mary took a deep breath. "We're not waiting to have a child. We just . . . haven't had one."

Sybil narrowed her eyes slightly. "Mary?"

Mary, as if suddenly realizing she didn't want to discuss the topic, stood to leave. "I'll leave you to rest."

"Mary, wait," Sybil called out.

"I'm all right Sybil," Mary answered not looking back.

"Mary, you've barely been married six months."

Mary stopped at the door and finally looked back at her sister. "It didn't take _you _half that long."

"That doesn't mean anything," Sybil said.

"Me not having a child and Matthew having no heir? Sybil that would mean _everything_."

"Come sit down," Sybil said, patting the space next to her in bed.

Mary walked back over to her sister and sat down. Sybil took her hand. "Please don't worry about this, Mary. Enjoy being married and the rest will work itself out."

Mary smiled but Sybil could see it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Besides," Sybil added, lifting her nose in the air. "I won't have the heir of the heir of the Earl of Grantham take any attention away from my daughter."

Mary smiled again, this time genuinely. "She is quite something. Who knew papa could be so enraptured by such a tiny creature?"

"It's odd," Sybil said. "All she does is sleep, and I'll be watching her. Then I'll look up to the clock and an hour will have gone by."

"How is the christening going?" Mary asked.

"Tom's taken care of everything. It's all arranged with the Catholic church in Ripon."

"Were you going to tell us?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow slightly.

Sybil smirked. "Of course, we were. It's not for another fortnight. Tom wanted to make sure I'd have some strength, so he put it off and I didn't want him to make too much hay of it before papa was fully used to the idea." Sybil paused, looking down at her hands, then said, "I've asked Edith to be her godmother. I hope you don't mind."

"Sybil, she's _your_ daughter, why would I mind?"

"Perhaps I thought you might have your heart set on it," Sybil said with a teasing tone.

"I'd have thought neither I nor Edith could be if she's Catholic," Mary replied.

"Tom says that only one godparent must be Catholic."

"Well, she'll make a fine one, and I do mean that even if you don't believe it."

"I know you do," Sybil said. "It's not me you need to convince that you do genuinely care for Edith."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Edith doesn't want to hear any of it from me. She'll only accuse me of gloating."

"She said she feels invisible," Sybil said more quietly.

"All women feel less than our full selves at any given time."

Sybil thought for a moment. "Did she tell you that the editor of the Sketch invited her to write her own column? She turned him down at papa's urging. I wish he wouldn't feel the need to stifle her at every turn or at least that she would defy him when he does."

Mary smiled. "Not all of us are built like you—or Tom for that matter."

"What do you mean?" Sybil asked.

"I can't say I've known many working men who've made the leap that he did in daring to fall in love with you—"

"Mary—"

"Hear me out!"

Sybil sighed. "Go on, then."

"What I mean to say is . . . it took strength for both of you to choose to marry. I recognize that now. For you it was a single act of defiance, but for Tom . . . every morning he sits at breakfast with papa, he crosses that boundary all over again."

"Who are you and what have you done with my snobbish sister?"

Mary looked away, as if embarrassed. "Those are Matthew's words, not mine. He likes Tom very much. Admires him, even. Having to listen to his gushing, I suppose I've been indoctrinated."

Sybil laughed. "That's a good word for it."

"Matthew's been fighting with papa about management of the estate. Tom has given him a bit of a shoulder to cry on and some support in trying to get his plan up and running. I don't think even Matthew realized how much he missed the presence of another man his age until you returned, and now he worries about how keen Tom is to leave again."

"We can't stay at Downton forever," Sybil said. "We've already stayed far longer than either of us imagined."

"You can't go back to Ireland. Sybil, he couldn't risk that."

"No, but there are other places we can go. It's not just Tom, Mary. _I_ couldn't possibly go back to dressing for dinner every night after living the freedom of not doing so for so long. The life we had in Dublin was wonderful—not what others would have chosen, I acknowledge, but it was perfect for us."

"But you won't leave soon, will you?" Mary asked, obviously concerned. "You have to heal properly."

"When Tom finds a job, that'll dictate the when. No British newspaper is going to hire an exiled Republican so we'll have to take what comes, whether it's here or elsewhere. Right now, I'm looking forward to the christening and don't know what's likely to happen much beyond that."

"Matthew mentioned something about Liverpool."

Sybil sighed. "His brother Kieran is newly arrived there. He's starting a business as a mechanic and wants Tom to go in with him."

"And you don't want him to?"

"It's not that. I just . . . oh, Mary he was doing so well at the newspaper. It took him a few months to find his feet, and many of his colleagues didn't consider him fully loyal because of me, but even so he was _thriving_. He does well with cars, but writing and politics are his dream, and it was in his grasp. To have to go backward now . . . leaving Dublin was hard enough for both of us. I don't want him to have to give this up too. Not yet anyway. But it'll be hard for him to turn down the offer. Kieran was terribly helpful and kind to us when we first arrived in Ireland, at a time when not many were."

"Did I meet him at your wedding?"

"No," Sybil said. "A cousin of theirs who was with the Volunteers got into some trouble fighting in Ulster about a week before you arrived. Kieran went to fetch him and took much longer that he planned to sort it out, so he missed the wedding. Mrs. Branson was beside herself. He's not very political himself, but steadfast in his support for his family. We've asked him to be Sybbie's godfather."

"So he'll be coming?"

Sybil nodded. "Tom thinks he should stay in the village."

"That's ridiculous!" Mary exclaimed.

Sybil smiled. "He's a bit of a rough diamond."

"I'm very fond of diamonds."

Sybil laughed at Mary's turn of phrase.

"But really Sybil, Tom needn't be embarrassed about his family."

Sybil laughed. "He's not! Unless you mean the Crawleys."

"Tom is embarrassed by us!?"

"Do you remember how granny and papa lectured him about not wearing the proper clothes to dinner when we first returned—and not having a morning suit for your wedding? Well, Kieran doesn't have any such clothes either, and while I've no problem asking Tom to compromise, I would never impose on Kieran! If papa pulled the same tricks again, it would be humiliating for us all, I can assure you."

Mary pursed her lips and said nothing.

"Don't be angry," Sybil said. "Kieran will come, he'll wear a perfectly fine suit and it'll all be all right."

"Have Tom give me the address and I'll have mama write him personally and say he's more than welcome to stay so long as he doesn't take you back with him."

Sybil smiled. "You know we can't promise anything, Mary."

"I do, but I also know you don't _have to_ go to Liverpool. If you can be willing to accept help from Tom's family, you can certainly accept it from us. You can stay here as long as you need. You _should, _in fact, at least as long as you're back to full health."

Sybil sighed deeply and looked around her old room, one that for so long seemed like a trap, but she wasn't alone in this room anymore, and the bassinet in the corner was a reminder that she was nowhere near the same person. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her favorite blue nightgown and her short, unkempt hair. Looking at Mary again, she said, "Yes, I suppose in my current state I couldn't walk out the door on my own—at least not as confidently as I did the first time I left—and Tom couldn't carry both of us."

Mary smiled, seemingly satisfied for the time being. "For what it's worth, I don't want you to go. Not far, anyway. And neither does Matthew. Or mama. Or anyone in the house, really. So it's you, against the lot of us."

Sybil smiled. "No different than before, then."


	4. Chapter 4

_Continuing the rewrite of 3x07 and continuing to work through what keeps Tom and Sybil at Downton. As I mentioned in the note at the top of the last chapter and as you will see in this one, the idea that Tom be hired as estate agent is Matthew's in this universe (not Violet's, as on the show), and Matthew makes his offer before Kieran arrives, not after. _

_Takes place about a week after the last chapter, with the baptism and Kieran's arrival still another week away. Lastly, there's a piece of dialogue that hints at how I arrived at the title of this story. __Enjoy!_

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**August 1920**

Sybil had been home about a week when she finally began to join the family for her meals again, instead of taking them in her room. Her swelling was almost all gone, and although she still tired quickly, she was able to get around on her own.

It was Isobel who pointed out that her energy level had less to do with her recovery than with the fact that she was nursing Sybbie. Once Sybil began eating a bit more and drinking plenty of fluids, she felt better. The biscuit jar in her room that in earlier years went untouched, was now usually empty by the end of the day.

On the day that Edith had received a second letter from Michael Gregson regarding regular column in The Sketch, Edith and Sybil took Sybbie in the pram for a short walk in the afternoon. Mr. Bates had returned home from his wrongful stay in prison that very morning and Kieran was due to arrive for Sybbie's christening at the end of the week, so the house was abuzz in activity. Activity from which Edith felt continually excluded.

Edith hadn't anticipated how much she was going to miss Sybil, when she'd gone. As children they'd never been especially close. Sybil's natural curiosity drove her to play and explore the house and its grounds beyond boundaries Edith was not confortable crossing. On top of which, Mary had learned to seize upon her shared interests with her youngest sister in order to underscore how alike and sisterly they were—as if their resemblance wasn't enough to make Edith feel like the odd duck already. But adulthood and maturity brought with it a measure of serenity. Edith would never understand all of Sybil's choices, but she came to admire the bravery it took to make them. More recently, she had learned to appreciate Tom's support in a house in which she'd never believed she'd had many allies.

Even before Edith told Sybil about the letter Edith wanted to write to the newspaper about women's suffrage, Edith had solicited Tom's advice on crafting it and on how to tell Sybil without making her feel like she was stealing Sybil's thunder. Sybil, of course, had been nothing but supportive of Edith—not to mention internally grateful that someone in her family had acknowledged that Tom had become a journalist in the time he'd been away from the house, and a good one at that.

"So did granny say she would speak to papa?" Sybil asked Edith as they pushed Sybbie's pram around the gardens. Edith had just returned from a visit to their grandmother, an effort to solicit her help in convincing Robert to accept her wish to take up Gregson's offer.

"More or less," Edith said with a sigh. "You know how she is. I told her she herself was pressing me not to be idle, and she clarified that she meant learning to paint or something."

Sybil let out a loud laugh. "Typical granny."

"I've half a mind to do that now, just so I can give her a rubbish painting in gratitude and guilt her into hanging it in her parlor. Only, I know she'd just give it to her butler for Christmas or his birthday."

"Well, whatever she says—whatever _papa_ says—I think you should do it. I'm sure Tom would be keen on helping you, even if it is a society paper."

"Does he have any leads for a job?"

"Other than with Kieran in Liverpool, no. He made a handful of inquiries with some northern papers, but nothing came of them."

"Because he's Irish?" Edith asked.

"Partly. It's also to do with the Home Office having his name as a potential rabble-rouser. But according to him, the worst of it is that he broke a cardinal rule of journalism."

"Oh, what's that?"

"A reporter is never supposed to become the news."

"Hmm. I'll have to remember that."

Sybil smiled. "So you're decided, then. Good."

"You're very kind to indulge me," Edith responded with her own smile.

"I'm _encouraging _you. That's different. I will fight your corner and so will Tom."

"Where is he this afternoon?"

"With Matthew, I think. Matthew was going to try to talk to papa again about his plans for the estate. According to Mary, that hasn't been going terribly well. Tom's been offering support."

"Tom has an interest in running the estate?" Edith asked skeptically.

"Well, we have to know how it works if we're going to take it down from the inside," Sybil said blithely.

A horrified look came over Edith's face as she stopped dead on her tracks. "What?"

Sybil threw her head back laughing. "I'm joking!"

Edith narrowed her eyes as she walked to catch up with her sister. "If you say so. But honestly, with you two, one can never be sure."

**XXX**

"Edith thinks we're planning an uprising," Sybil told Tom later that evening as she dressed for dinner.

Tom, dressed except for his jacket, was walking around the room while holding Sybbie, trying to lull her to sleep after she'd enjoyed her own dinner in the arms of her mother. Tom had seemed distracted to Sybil all evening, but Sybil couldn't place why. She could only see that it was differed from the general dissatisfaction with life that had been wearing on him for the last few weeks, now that she was on her way to being well again and her health and survival were no longer the only things he could think about.

"Tom?"

"What?" He asked turning to face Sybil.

Sybil smiled. "I said Edith thinks we're plotting to bring down the estate."

Tom laughed a bit humorlessly and focused his attention back on Sybbie. "We could if we wanted to. We've got the will and the opportunity."

"What do you mean opportunity?"

Tom sighed and slowly lowered a now sleeping Sybbie into her bassinet. He walked over to the bed and sat down, his shoulders sinking as he did so. Concerned, Sybil walked over from where she'd been standing in front of her standing mirror and sat down next to him, taking his hand.

"Darling, what is it?" Sybil asked.

"Mr. Jarvis resigned this afternoon."

"What? Why?"

"He doesn't like Matthew's ideas for modernizing the running of the estate or consolidating the farming operations."

"That's a rather dramatic way of expressing disagreement," Sybil said, "but what does that have to do with you?"

Tom turned to look his wife in the eye with a small, sad smile.

Sybil's eyes widened in recognition. "Matthew wants _you _to replace him?!"

Tom looked down to his hands again and nodded.

"Oh . . . my." Sybil bit her lip as the she considered the possibility that was now before them, but she could barely wrap her head around it. "I knew that he was confiding in you about his plans. It never occurred to me that he'd make you a part of them."

"I told him my grandparents were tenants back in Ireland. Then, he started asking me all these questions. It didn't occur to me that he was _interviewing _me."

"I can only assume you said no."

Tom sighed. "He wouldn't take no for an answer—that is, he insisted that I take some time to think about it. It wouldn't be like before. Jarvis was little more than a rent collector. I'd certainly never agree to do _that_, but . . . Matthew, he . . ." Tom sighed and scratched his head.

"He what?" Sybil prodded gently.

"The rents don't suffice to maintain the house. That's been true for ages, apparently. That's why your father ran through your mother's money so quickly. If things stay as they are, Matthew and Mary won't be married ten years before Miss Swire's money is gone too."

"Golly, it never occurred to me that papa would insist on continuing to live like this if it wasn't sustainable."

Tom shrugged. "How else would he live? He doesn't know another way and he feels entitled to the best of everything. It's practically in his blood."

Sybil smiled sadly. "I wouldn't say that."

Tom lifted his hand to her face and ran his thumb over her cheek. "Perhaps it skips a generation."

Sybil laughed. "Or one of every three children."

"Anyway, the only way for the land to pay for the upkeep of the house is to turn it into a profitable farming operation. The agent would be its manager. I'd oversee the purchase and maintenance the machinery, coordinate the growing and grazing, that sort of thing."

"What of the tenants?"

"The estate would work with them to get yields up, but Matthew couldn't bring them all forward with him. He wants more land to be working specifically for the house—all of it, in his ideal world, but that would be years on. It wouldn't be practical to take it all over now."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "But he couldn't just kick them out . . . could he?"

"I suggested he buy them out. Use the money he has now to offer them a comfortable retirement, some sort of compensation for having stewarded the estate for so long."

"And let me guess," Sybil said rolling her eyes, "that's the part of the plan papa objects to?"

Tom smirked. "In your father's mind, the land belongs to him. He respects the _tradition _of tenancy, so he's reluctant to change that, but his concern for the people, while genuine, isn't rooted in the idea of shared ownership. Legally, he's right. It is his land. But you know well I view it differently. "

"And Matthew agrees with you?"

"I told him to think of it as an investment and a show of good faith for those who will remain. I know he wants to do right by Downton, and certainly it's not his wish to achieve that end at the expense of the people in the village."

Sybil looked into Tom's eyes for a long moment. "You seem further along in your thinking than I would've expected."

"I haven't made a decision yet. I am inclined to turn it down. Keeping your family rich isn't exactly my life's ambition."

Sybil bit her lip. "It wouldn't be like being the chauffeur," she said quietly. "You'd be working _with _Matthew, not for him. I'm sure that's how he'd see it."

"Your grandmother wants nothing more than to call me _Branson_ again. Maybe if that's true she might let me go back to wearing an everyday suit at dinner."

Sybil couldn't help but snicker and Tom did too. She squeezed his hand. "Are you really considering it?"

"I don't know." Tom paused as if to collect his thoughts, then continued, "When I first started working here, I told myself that it would only be for a year, maybe two—just enough that I could move on to London or another city in which to seek work that would make me truly independent. I couldn't bear to prop up a system that was so harmful to so many, but I needed the work and it was all that was available to me at the time."

"Then you met me?" Sybil said quietly.

Tom put his hands over hers. "Then I met you."

"I don't want to think of myself as the reason your dreams were derailed—"

"You're not! I want to do work I am proud of, but Sybil, just being with you makes me proud too. Every day. Our marriage is an even bigger dream than I could have ever hoped for. And Sybbie is an affirmation of it. Now, I just want for _her _to grow up to do what makes _her _proud, whatever that is. And you as well. I'll do anything to give that to you both."

Sybil pulled him into a hug. "I want you to be happy too." Pulling away, she added, "I don't care for the frivolities of this life, you know that. But I don't dislike the idea of helping Mary and Matthew. And from the sound of it, if Matthew takes your counsel, you could be helping the tenants as well. A rising tide lifts all boats and all that."

Tom grinned. "Spoken like a true capitalist."

Sybil lifted her nose in the air in mock indignation. "There is certainly no need for name-calling!"

Tom laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her playfully onto his lap. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"I seem to remember not too long ago, a young aristocratic girl so eager to leave all this behind she married the bloody chauffeur."

Sybil smiled softly, and Tom swore he saw, for flicker of a second, the brightness of that young girl's eyes and the memory of that night—_you're my ticket_—flash before both of their eyes.

"You know what happens to the best laid plans," Sybil said finally.

"What happens?"

"Life. Life is what happens."

Sybil stood and pulled him over to the bassinet where their daughter lay sleeping. "I wouldn't trade ours for anything."

Tom held Sybil's face in his hands and gave her a long deep kiss.

She smiled as they pulled away. "We should go down."

With a sigh, Tom let go of Sybil and went over to the armchair on which he'd left his tuxedo jacket while he was putting Sybbie to sleep. Once it was on, he turned to Sybil and snickered as she stepped into her slippers.

"I know I need to buy myself some new dress shoes, but who wants to bother when it's so amusing to watch Carson look so horrified whenever he catches a glimpse of these."

Tom laughed quietly. "You really wouldn't mind staying here?"

Sybil walked over to her bell and pulled on the cord, so Mrs. Hughes could send up one of the maids to sit with Sybbie while her parents were in the dining room—the compromise that Sybil and her mother settled on with regard to Sybbie's care, with Mrs. Hughes' support.

"I don't want to, not forever, but I must admit, it's been nice being close to Mary and Edith again—Edith, in particular. She feels so alone here. We went back to Dublin so quickly after what happened with Sir Anthony, I didn't take the time to think of how much lonelier it would be for her. I know what it's like to feel trapped in this house."

"Add heartbreak to that," Tom said. "I imagine it's nigh unbearable."

"I don't want to abandon her, at least not until she's found something to do that will lift her spirits and give her focus."

"I suppose if I can't be a journalist, I might as well support someone who can. Even if it is The Sketch. And I can live anywhere so long as I get to keep you."

Sybil smiled and walked back over to him for another kiss. "Let's take Matthew's advice and wait. When Kieran comes, we'll talk about Liverpool and then we'll make our decision. How does that sound, Mr. Branson?"

"I always follow where you lead, Mrs. Branson."


	5. Chapter 5

_Series 3, episode 7 continues with Kieran's arrival. I know that Tom's motivations and characterization is a bit all over the place in this and the previous chapter, but in trying to rationalize why he'd stay at Downton, I am forcing him into a bit of a crisis of confidence that doesn't truly come to a head until events in series 4. He's basically feeling pulled in all directions amid the wave of self-doubt that began to surface when he was forced to flee Ireland. We'll be seeing bits and pieces of that in this and future chapters._

_Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing! Enjoy!_

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"Why are you so nervous?" Sybil asked as she sat in the armchair of her room nursing Sybbie and watching her husband fidgeting as he paced from one end of the room to the other. "It's only Kieran. You're acting as if the King and Queen of England are coming for the christening."

"Maybe we shouldn't have invited him here," Tom blurted out.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Tom, don't be ridiculous!"

Tom walked over to the bed, sat down and put his head in his hands. "I mean, maybe we should have arranged for the christening in Liverpool. That way we'd have been out of sight and out of mind as we would have been in Dublin, and your parents would have less reason to complain to you about me or drop hints here and there that we're not doing right by Sybbie."

Sybil smirked. "As if you honestly care about what they think."

Tom looked up at Sybil. "I don't care what they think of me, but I don't want them to continue to take their dislike of my religion out on you, and certainly not on Sybbie."

"I know that my father is not always the easiest person in the world to handle, but despite his attitude about our marriage, he does genuinely love his granddaughter. Papa's thinking regarding a Catholic upbringing is backward—that's obvious. But his concern comes from a place of love. We can embrace that and ignore the rest."

Tom laughed humorlessly. "Dearest, granddaughter," he said putting on an English accent, "I love you as any grandfather would, and it's because of that love that I don't want you to be anything like your father."

Sybil couldn't help but laugh. "Would you believe that granny said something very akin to that to Mary, Edith and myself about mama and her _ghastly _American ways."

Tom smiled. "So it's all just family tradition, then?"

"Yes, and you know how strongly papa likes to hold on to tradition."

Tom sighed and thought for a moment. Sybil watched the various emotions obviously warring within him. Tom enjoyed lively debate as much as the next person, but it was not in Tom's nature to pick a fight with anyone, not merely for the sake of fighting, even with her father. And yet his instincts drove him to stand up and speak for what was right, which more or less meant fighting with Robert on a daily basis. Even with Matthew's support, having to justify himself at every turn was exhausting him, especially when he wasn't working to support his family in the way he wanted. Sybil thought that extending an invitation to Kieran to visit for a few days might put him at ease, but apparently it had only increased his burden.

Kieran had supported them steadfastly, supported _her_, in her early days in Dublin when so many other Branson relatives and friends were skeptical, even if benignly so, about whether their love would survive the tests it would face and whether Sybil in particular was strong enough to weather them while also getting used to living in circumstances much reduced from what she had been used to growing up. Still, Kieran was every bit the stubborn Branson his brother was and one much more set in his ways. He admired Sybil's rejection of her family's riches and lifestyle. But it was one thing to have his support in Dublin, and quite another altogether to ask him to tread the delicate terrain of Downton on her family's terms.

She'd wanted him to come for Tom to have a taste of the home he dearly missed, but she also wanted to believe that her families were not so far apart that they couldn't ever be in each other's presence and share a meal together. More than anything, Sybil wanted the milestones in her daughter's life to be marked by the love she felt from both sides of her family tree, not as occasions to be reminded of how incongruous or incompatible or unwilling to put aside difference those sides were.

"Will you come over here please?" Sybil asked Tom quietly.

Tom stood from the bed and kneeled in front of the arm chair and watched Sybbie nurse, the image of his beautiful bundle of joy taking her nourishment from the woman who'd given her life—the woman who had, in a different way, given _him_ life—eased his weary heart.

Sybil ran her fingers through his hair and watched him watch Sybbie. "Every thing is going to be all right. Kieran gets on well with everyone."

Tom rolled his eyes. "He gets along well with people he likes, and you know well he's not inclined to like anyone in this house, certainly not above stairs."

"And _you_ know well that he was the first in your family to to be happy for us, so perhaps you're not giving him enough credit."

Tom kissed Sybil's hand. "And you do not give yourself enough credit because _that_, my darling, was all due to your social graces and nothing to do with those of my ornery brother."

"My social graces or my ability to handle my whiskey?"

Tom laughed. "Both."

"Doesn't he like to say, 'Give me a good bottle and I'm at home anywhere'?" Sybil said, trying to match Kieran's brogue, much thicker than Tom's. "God knows papa is more welcoming when he has a cognac in his hand."

"Not _that _welcoming, and he has no problem feeling at home anywhere because there's rarely a place he goes in this county that isn't actually his."

Sybil smirked. "Well, I doubt it'll take much for Kieran to feel at home and do just as he pleases here as well as he did in Dublin."

Tom rubbed his forehead. "That's a bit what I'm afraid of."

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Tom stood to open it and Sybil took a nursing cloth and draped it over herself and Sybbie. Seeing that Sybil was ready, Tom opened the door to see Alfred on the other side.

"Hello, sir, I apologize for the intrusion, but Mr. Branson is here," he said.

Tom's eyes went wide. "Already! He said he was coming on the evening train."

Sybil laughed. "Thank you, Alfred. We'll be down to the entrance hall in a moment."

Alfred shifted on his feet. "Actually, he's in the servants quarters. I told him he could come up, when he came in through the service door, but he refused. Not that he's been rude or anything. In fact, he's giving everyone a bit of a laugh."

"That's Kieran," Sybil said, unable to stop herself from smiling, imagining the scene he might be making downstairs and the redness of Carson's complexion in the face of it.

Tom, on the other hand, dropped his head back in exasperation, making both Alfred and Sybil laugh. "Dear God, why does he like making things difficult." With a sigh he turned to Sybil, "Take your time finishing with her. I'll go get him sorted out."

As Tom followed Alfred down the hall, they passed Mary.

"Where are you off to?" She asked Tom.

"My brother's downstairs," Tom said.

"I thought he wasn't getting here until tonight," Mary said.

"So did we."

"Is Sybil with the baby?"

Tom nodded.

"I'll come with you, then," Mary said. "He should have a family welcome."

Tom wanted to say that wasn't a good idea, but he also knew that Mary wouldn't take no for an answer. She'd fought Sybil on the idea of marrying Tom without apology to him, but once Sybil made it clear she'd not be changing her mind, Mary became determined in equal measure to embrace her brother-in-law in every possible way (not entirely unlike Kieran himself had done with Sybil, whom he embraced as his new sister only after it was clear that his brother wouldn't be talked out of marrying her).

They walked down the stairs to the servants hall silently, and Tom's annoyance grew as the sounds of laughter and then the voice a clearly rankled Carson could be heard even before they'd walked into the room. At the bottom of the stairs, as he came around Mary, Tom saw immediately all eyes fall on him. There was Carson's consistently judgmental stare, Thomas' usual mixture of disinterest and disdain and, perhaps worst of all, Mrs. Hughes, Bates and Anna, all of them his good friends and yet none able to disguise their looks of second-hand embarrassment.

The annoyance he felt at his brother welled up in his chest and began to turn into anger. "Kieran," he said sternly, trying to keep his voice in check. "What are you doing down here? Come upstairs."

Kieran looked his brother up and down, dressed in a fancy suit he'd likely have been ashamed to wear in Dublin and seemingly ill at ease in a room that not too long ago had been his domain and among those he used to call his friends. A resolute bachelor, Kieran had been touched by Tom and Sybil's ovation. He was genuinely thrilled about being godfather to his little niece, but wished he could do so without having to acknowledge the Crawleys as an ongoing presence (and from what he could already see, too heavy an influence) in his brother's life.

He considered Sybil a lovely and thoughtful girl, but quite obviously a rare breed among her ilk. It was rather petty to come in to Downton as he had, by way of the service entrance, but after he received the invitation from Lady Grantham to come stay at the house "for as long as he liked"—as if a working man like himself had all the time in the world—he felt inclined to remind them what class of person he was. He figured, moreover, that the Crawleys likely wished they'd not have to acknowledge him as a relation, so why not make it easy for them by making himself at home among their staff?

Kieran looked around at the audience that he'd amassed, all cowed by the high and might butler. With a shrug, he said, "I don't fancy it. Can I not stay put? Have me dinner down here?"

Tom opened his mouth to answer, but Mary spoke first "But we're all so looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Branson," she said quietly. Tom noticed a quiver in her voice that he'd never heard before, as if Mary—Lady Mary Crawley, of all people—was nervous about the impression she was making on a member of his family and nervous as to whether or not it was a favorable one. Tom was taken by her sincerity, and, in spite of himself, endeared.

"If you come with us," Mary continued, "you can see your room and get changed"—she paused for a fraction of a second before remembering Sybil's words about not imposing such a ritual on Kieran and quickly and meekly added, "If you want to."

But Kieran couldn't help but take the bait. "And what would I change into?" He asked, setting the room to giggles again. "A pumpkin?"

Tom's jaw tightened. He couldn't blame his brother for not knowing Mary well enough to recognize an earnest attempt on her part to make him feel welcome, but he could find fault in Kieran's failure to heed their mother's lessons about respect, giving others the benefit of the doubt and keeping the cheek to a minimum, all of which would have been well applied here too—not that Kieran had ever learned those lessons particularly well.

Kieran remembered them now as he stared into his younger brother's chastising look, more like their mother's cutting glare than even Tommy himself would believe, if he'd been able to look in a mirror just then.

"Oh, come on, Tommy," Kieran finally said. "Can't we eat down here? They seem like a nice lot. What's the matter? Are you too grand for them now?"

Voicing more certainty than he felt about where he stood with the staff, Tom said, "They know that I'm not, but my mother-in-law has been kind enough to invite you to stay and dine, and I'll not let you snub her. Now, get a move on."

With a weary roll if his eyes, Kieran pushed himself up and moved around the table to follow Mary and Tom back up the stairs, patting Moseley on the shoulder as he passed, a gesture the stiff valet (a wet sandwich if Kieran ever saw one) didn't exactly appreciate.

They'd just reached the top of the stairs when they met Sybil, who'd left Sybbie with Edith to greet her brother-in-law. "Kieran! It's so lovely to see you again! And with so much for us all to celebrate."

Kieran leaned down to kiss Sybil and offered the first genuine smile since he'd stepped on the premises. "Well, I don't know about myself but you certainly do. How is the little darling?"

"Looking forward to meeting her uncle," Sybil said warmly. After stepping away from Kieran's embrace she noticed the continued tension in Tom's shoulders and Mary's tight-lipped smile, but sure that dwelling on what had obviously been an awkward scene downstairs would just make things worse, Sybil took Kieran by the arm. "There'll be time for a tour later, though I doubt there's much of interest to you here in the gloomy old house, so how about we go meet Sybbie?"

"How'd he talk you into that one, anyway?" Kieran asked.

Sybil looked over her shoulder to where Tom remained standing and smiled. "He likes to have his way, doesn't he?"

"Hmph! You don't have to tell me twice."

As Tom and Mary watched Kieran and Sybil walk blithely away, Mary snickered.

"How does she do it?" Mary said, as if asking the universe that question, and not the man standing beside her.

Tom rubbed his face with his hands, unable to stop himself from smiling, the tension he'd been feeling in the last few minutes all but gone. "Honestly, Mary, I don't want to know."


End file.
